Dancing Queen
by StormsInNeverland
Summary: What if Prom King had been given to another, braver student? What if McKinley's Prom King was the resident badass stud of Glee club? A "what if?" of Kurt's prom embarrassment. Oneshot alternative to Season 2 Episode 20 "Prom Queen"


**Title: Dancing Queen**

**Summary: What if Prom King had been given to another, braver student? What if McKinley's Prom King was the resident badass stud of Glee club? A what if? of Kurt's prom embarrassment.**

**Pairings: Puckurt friendship bonding, Klaine romance**

**Warnings: Offensive homophobic language (grrr). This is also possibly the fluffiest, cutest thing we'll ever, ever write.**

**Well, this pretty much ignores the whole Artie/Puck punch-spiking thing, which, let's face it, was pretty dumb. Also, the Kate Middleton line is stolen. I mean, come on, how could that possibly be left out? Kurt is such a bitching babe - a whole lotta love for him. Lotta-love to Sally for the idea and the dialogue, lott-love to Kyle for the rest.**

**Reviews are rewarded with hugs and love. So, you know, pre-thanks for you sexy beasts who let us know what you think. _Sally__ & __Kyle__ xx_**

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><p><span>Dancing Queen<span>

"…Kurt Hummel."

The name rang through the tense silence like the crack of a gun, painfully loud and full of unvoiced fury. Kurt's fingers, interlaced with those of his boyfriend, clenched instinctively, and he felt Blaine wince beside him, but didn't encourage him to let go.

The tall, slender boy felt eyes falling on him, sending their amusement, their hatred, their sympathy…all upon him in waves that threatened to drown him. He wanted to run; he wanted to scream; he wanted to burst into tears. His knees were threatening to buckle, and he could feel Blaine's silent support grow as the hand he held eased from his grip, instead settling on his lower back.

"Kurt?" the small Warbler whispered, and Kurt shook his head, tears of humiliation prickling, clinging to his lashes.

Rather than answer, his terrified eyes looked up from the floor, over the crowds and past Principal Figgins to where the Prom King stood.

Puck stared at him expectantly, and he was surprised by the lack of disgusted malice in the jock's face. He looked…neutral, bored, even, by how long this was taking.

"Move it, Homo!" a voice bellowed from across the room.

"Carter, outside, now!" Coach Sylvester roared, red in the face, and she glanced at Kurt briefly with an expression akin to fondness before storming out behind the grumbling footballer.

"Go Kurt!" a voice shouted, which Kurt thought may have been Rachel, but he didn't have the effort to confirm.

Kurt remained frozen, unaware of exactly what it was Blaine was murmuring to him in his ear. He was too busy locking eyes with Puck, who, to his utter shock, raised his eyebrows, as if to say _You__ coming__ or __what?_

Slowly, hesitantly, unable to convince his lungs breathing was a good idea, Kurt Hummel, Prom Queen, began to walk towards the stage. He steeled his expression, covering the pain with an icy glare which he sent to the majority of the student body as they watched him walk. Any whispers uttered were loud in the silent hall, and boy there were enough to send shivers down his spine.

No-one clapped; no-one cheered. Kurt could feel Quinn's cold eyes on him, but somewhere in the back of his mind he forgave her. It wasn't as if _she_had done this to him. She was the last person that would do this to him: she wanted it for herself too badly. He almost felt bad for denying her it. She could have it if she wanted!

The trek towards the stage seemed to take far longer than he'd anticipated. He couldn't quite bring himself to look around at the faces following him. He could handle the hatred - he'd been dealing with it most of his life, after all - but he wasn't so sure about the amusement, or even worse, the sympathy. He could practically feel the pity emanating from most of his fellow glee members, Mercedes in particular. He was almost surprised she hadn't started screaming her signature _aww__ hell __to __the __nahh! _yet.

In fact, he almost wanted her to.

The climb up the steps to join the principal and the prom king, as well as the rejected candidates, all of whom were eyeing him a thousand hot blades, took far too much effort. His knees refused to bend, and his feet were reluctant, softer than jelly as they climbed _one__ two __three_…

He imagined the crowds before him to be the spectators of Wicked. He was Fiyero, and they loved him, and they were waiting for him to begin. This was his dream…

A snigger. A single, lonely snigger, soon stifled behind a slapped hand to the mouth.

His confidence shattered.

The long held breath hissed from his lips and for a moment the world crashed around his ears.

The crown was too heavy on his head, the sceptre too heavy in his hand. But there was the microphone, and he couldn't stand dumbly. He was Kurt Hummel!

After all, nobody pushes the Hummels around.

And with that in mind, he stepped forwards.

"Eat your heart out, Kate Middleton."

The air rippled with chuckles, and he found Blaine's face among the nervous glances, grinning proudly at him. He raised a small thumbs up towards him that brought about something warm, something secure, in Kurt's shaking torso. At the back of the room, almost directly in line with the small Dalton boy, stood Will Schuester, and Kurt felt oddly comforted by the soft smile on the Spanish teacher's face, the reassuring nod as welcome as the arrogant smirk which the suddenly returned cheerleading coach threw him, standing by her arch enemy's side and stabbing each of the students in turn with her steely gaze.

Whatever happened, Kurt knew, Sue Sylvester had his back.

"And now, it is time for the traditional Prom King and Queen dance," Principal Figgins announced, monotone as ever, and for the umpteenth time in the space of five minutes, Kurt wanted the ground to swallow him up, not caring whether or not it ever spat him back out again.

Throat constricted with fear, he stared straight ahead, not daring to look at the _I'ma-__beat-__the-__fag-__outta-__you-__if-__you-__touch-__me _that was no doubt filling Puck's expression.

"Kurt?"

He wasn't sure he'd ever heard his ex-bully use his first name before, and the shock alone dragged his gaze from the far wall to the Prom King. Puck was smirking and - was that his hand he was holding out for him?

He refused to accept it, worried Puck would take advantage of his slight frame and throw him off the stage. He did, however, begin the tortuous walk to the main floor, a circle of which was cleared of students, all thirsty for blood (his blood, he noted with a sickening clench of his already queasy stomach.) He could feel Puck's presence, too warm and too close.

Dancing Queen. Of all the songs they decided to play, they decided to play Dancing Queen.

The centre of attention, they faced one another. Over Puck's shoulder he could see Dave Karofsky watching them with a morbid fascination, slightly sympathetic but mostly…impolitely curious. To Kurt's further embarrassment, when he reluctantly raised his arms to copy Puck's motions, he realised his hands were shaking terribly.

He dropped them back to his side, looking over his shoulder. He could feel his entire face glowing crimson as he blushed furiously, not helped by the smirk lines in Puck's face deepening.

"Come on, Hummel," he spoke, just about loud enough to be heard over the music, low enough to avoid all ears but Kurt's. "You really going to reject a stud as badass as me?" He shrugged nonchalantly, and Kurt was sure, through his tear blurred eyes, that he even rippled his abs through his shirt.

"You don't-" Kurt mumbled, knowing Puck wouldn't be able to hear him, but Puck was having none of it.

"Whatever, dude," he grinned, reaching over to grab Kurt's hand before swinging him into a dance.

Kurt was hyper-aware of Puck's hand on his lower back, the exact same place Blaine had placed his earlier. The older boy's entire frame being larger than Blaine's, Kurt found Puck's semi-embrace somewhat more stifling than his boyfriend's. He made a mental note of gratefulness that he wasn't dating a muscle-driven 'stud'; the thought of being smothered by those _guns_(as proud as Puckerman was of them) every time he wanted to be hugged made him feel almost claustrophobic.

He thanked his stars he had training in dance, and as such could keep a decent rhythm without concentrating too hard: all his focus was on Noah Puckerman, analysing his facial expression so he'd be able to react fast when the boy finally realised how gay this whole thing was and decided to beat the living hell out of him.

Too scared to listen to anything but the music, Kurt wasn't aware of the broken cheers and whoops that were beginning to surround them, nor the click-clack as people dared to join them.

"Cool it, Hummel. You look like I'm about to throw you into a dumpster," Puck grinned, pushing the slender boy away to twirl him once before pulling him back, this time closer than before.

"Yeah, that's kind of exactly what's going through my head right now, Puck," Kurt admitted.

"Well don't," Puck assured him. 'Again with that dam smile!' Kurt realised, surprised at how comforting Puck could be when he wasn't intimidating people. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're dancing with McKinley's leading stud, after all." He winked, and Kurt let out a breathless chuckle. "And in any case," Puck continued, bolstered by his ability to drag out a laugh from the still somewhat tense teen. "You're clearly the prettiest thing here."

"I'm gay, Puck, not a girl."

"Could have fooled me." Puck's eyes found his kilt, and he quirked an eyebrow. Blushing again, this time in far better humour, Kurt slapped the boy's arm, ignoring Puck's faux look of hurt.

"It's a kilt!" Kurt shrieked, but he didn't let go as they spun fast, slipping between couples as they sped up the pace of their feet. "Since when do you dance?" he cried, leaning in to reach Puck's ear.

"Since forever. Whenever Santana needed to practice anything for Cheerios, or something Latin for her dance classes, she always came to me. It was either learn fast or listen to her bitch and whine every time I said no."

"That sounds like Santana," Kurt agreed, eyeing the dark haired girl with a keen eye as she danced, a distracted Brittany in her arms. "You're very good," he added. "I'm impressed, Puck."

"Why thank you!" Puck cried, smiling sarcastically. "I can live a fulfilled life now I have the approval of Kurt Hummel."

"Oh shut up," Kurt slapped him again, and Puck only gripped his waist tighter.

"Ow! You need to stop doing that, it actually kind of hurts." He pouted sulkily, but couldn't quite hide his smile as Kurt rolled his eyes and replied.

"Oh, Noah-kins, did I hurt your poor little guns?"

"Little? There is nothing little about my guns." Flexing his bicep in proof, Puck threw his Prom Queen a dazzlingly flirty smile.

"Oh Noah, if I wasn't taken I'd be all over you."

For a split second he feared he'd gone too far, averting his gaze and loosening his grip to put some distance between them. Puck, however, had other ideas, subtly stepping closer to Kurt again. "I should think so."

Suddenly he looked away from Kurt - for what the ex-cheerleader realised to be the first time since they'd started dancing - and mischief glinted in his hazel eyes as his attention returned to his dance partner.

"What are you planning?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

"How jealous does the boyfriend get?" he smirked, and Kurt's eyed flitted to Blaine, who was staring in wonder at the pair, a crease on his forehead.

"Oh-my-" Kurt beamed at Blaine, his warm, damp hand leaving Puck's long enough to wave at his boyfriend, who waved back, looking relieved. "You're. So. Mean!" he squealed as Puck pressed their chests together, dropping Kurt into a romance-novel fall and lifting him up again with ease.

Their laughter mingled, as natural as if it had done for years, and for the first time there swelled between them an awkward pause. Sarcastic flirting was far easier than friendliness, after all.

Puck opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him, so he shrugged, grinning and twirling the slender boy to avoid speech for a few more seconds.

"Can I cut in?"

Kurt was unsure of exactly how Blaine had managed to crowd jump so quickly, but abruptly the boy was by their side, looking both eager and curious.

"Don't worry, Tiger," Puck reached up to ruffle the smallest boy's hair fondly, and Blaine protested lightly, looking glad to be holding his boyfriend's hand again. "He's all yours. Thank you for the dance, Your Majesty," Puck bowed ostentatiously, earning a laugh from both boys.

"A pleasure, good sir," Kurt replied.

"Well, I'm off to go do something really, _really _manly now," the boy announced, running a hand over his mohawk. "Where's Lauren?" he asked vaguely.

Kurt watched him walk away, and to his surprise Puck turned back to wave, smile still upturning his lips in an uncharacteristically delighted expression.

"That was…" Blaine said in a confused voice. Kurt settled into the slower rhythm of the new song. As happy as he'd been to dance with Puck, he was far more comfortable with Blaine's slight-yet-strong embrace.

"I know," Kurt agreed.

They enjoyed the closeness for a few minutes, revolving at a steady pace, Blaine leaning into Kurt's shoulder, his arms around his waist, while Kurt kept his hands clasped behind the smaller boy's neck.

"Wasn't that…Puck?" Blaine commented, breaking their silence. "The guy who used to throw you in dumpsters…and chuck slushies in your face…and…"

"Burst pee balloons on me, and nail my lawn furniture to the roof, and refer to me as _it_ or _homo _or _fag_…"

"Well, yeah," Blaine mumbled, worry in his eyes.

"No," Kurt shook his head softly, eyes finding Puck for a moment as he stood suspiciously close to the punch bowl, talking closely with Lauren Zizes. His gaze locked with Blaine's visible confusion, reassuring the Warbler with contented warmth that dispelled the usual steeliness of his cold, blue eyes. "I reckon that was Noah…"


End file.
